The Spirit Of Christmas Passed (doing about 80MPH)

I went out for a little last-minute gift shopping today, mostly because it's a personal tradition of self-torture. I'd already found the items I was trying to purchase on-line, in preparation for the my inevitable annual frustration tantrum during this trip, but it didn't happen. Neither the traffic nor the tempers were up to par this year, and even the Santas seemed to be smiling. Perhaps global warming has thawed the hearts of my fellow citizens. Maybe it's because X-Eve is on a Sunday this year, so everybody got their shopping done early. Then again, maybe the shit is going to hit the fan when the malls try to close at six o'clock tonight. I might get that Riot At The Galleria Playset that I wanted so much after all. Of course, I'm not going to let all this happiness and nice weather touch my Seasonal Affective Disorder. I used to really love this season, all the gift-giving and decorating and crap. I'm not really sure what happened, but it seems like these days I can no longer afford the cost of The Perfect Gift or the time for Holiday Cheer. You know what they say about Christmas... lotta suicides. From one of my favorite bloggers, Violet Blue:

Damn this nauseatingly familial season. I bought little foil bows for no reason at all. I think I will stick them on my cat. And maybe my tits. [...] Maybe if I find more eel porn it will put me out of my misery before tomorrow.

From The M&M Army of djwudi

Of course, family stuff isn't until tomorrow. And even then, not my family, which makes it slightly more embarrassing but an equivalent amount more uncomfortable. This will be the third or fourth year that The Brat and I go to Ghan's parents' for dinner, for no better reason than they're willing to have us and it's slightly more social than, say, drinking anti-freeze. It's ironic that I spent years skipping out on my family however I could, only to be trapped into a family gathering to which I don't belong. At least The Brat can get drunk and flirt with Ghan's dad. Mostly I either sit uncomfortably at the table playing with the trains or whatever that were attached to the customary M&Ms, or standing uncomfortably on the porch smoking by myself. On the plus side, at least her dad is a good cook. As long as they don't try to serve me a duck while telling me it's turkey, it is less intolerable than my Parental X-Dinner used to be (Me at 8: "If this is turkey then you found the smallest, greasiest turkey ever, Mom." Mom: "Just eat it and shut up."). I think that family gatherings are mostly about showing up and smiling politely, and maturity has brought me those abilities if little else. Eventually however, the rich food, nervousness and boredom inexorably clamp down on my abdomen. The smile will become weaker, and then even the showing up starts to fade. Usually at that point, I leave The Brat with Topher and Ghan to continue her drunkening while I beg off the further festivities to get back to online poker. There I discover the True Spirit Of Christmas in the generosity of those poor souls, probably stuck on some relative's computer, drunk and trying to give away their stocking stuffer subsidies playing 60% of their hands on the $2/$4 6-max tables. Ah yes... it's The Most Wonderful Time of the Year. Maybe I'll watch NORAD's Santa-tracker to see if the Russians can scramble their MIGs in time this year. Boxing Day just can't come soon enough for me.